Logic is common, sanity is rare
by ScarletteQuill
Summary: My take on the 221B challenge. For better or for worse. 7. Holmes and Watson have to clean up Bob the pygmy stand-in's mess- again. 8. Nothingness and silence can convict more than a world of logical deduction
1. Chapter 1

"Holmes, I don't care what insane idea you've concocted; you still look like a deranged foppish idiot."

"It is essential that my disguise be authentic as possible Watson. Otherwise any over-clever constable with a bath sponge could ruin the interrogation. You know they do that regularly now." Holmes meticulously worked at his garish cravat until it was perfectly askew.

"Thanks to your actions some time ago, I hope you realize."

Holmes ignored that statement.

"Is this disguise so essential that you have neither shaved nor bathed in the past week and a half? Mrs. Hudson has stopped even acknowledging your existence, your hair looks like something Toby would use for a bed, and we won't dare begin to discuss the unpleasant smell of that cologne you insist upon wearing too strongly. It has been increasingly difficult to live in your wake Holmes. "

Holmes put on the too-large overcoat and looked up at his friend through a pair of tinted spectacles. The effect was distantly aggravating. "Then it should help to know that within two hours I will have gotten in the police cart, conversed with the robber, and have the jewels' location." He tipped his ugly hat and left.

Watson resolved that upon Holmes' return, he would attack him with a pound of lye soap and a quart of brilliantine.


	2. Chapter 2

The view from the ruined hut was not all that unpleasant. With enough straw, the long, horizontal stone made for a decent bed, and the pit in the center furnished an adequately warming fire. Montague Street had been a more inhospitable domicile.

Humming Mendelssohn absent-mindedly, Holmes strode back into the hovel with his today's mail and fresh collars. After setting the latter aside to read Watson's latest earnest but erroneous findings, the detective hurriedly finished his toilet.

As soon as he straightened his collar, there was a sickening crawling sensation on the back of Holmes' neck. He jerkily ripped the thing back out to reveal a large beetle strolling along the inside of it.

Collar and insect went flying, with a few choice words as well. Holmes leapt ten feet in the air (or he would have if he didn't hit his head on the low roof). After crashing down into a mud puddle, he scrambled across the floor after the offending beetle. He soon had it cornered beside the bed before stomping his foot down with a decisively final smack. With a huff, Holmes turned on his heel and went searching for his misplaced collar.

Sherlock Holmes was prepared for cold-blooded killers, escaped convicts, even an otherworldly hound, but nothing in any analysis of Dartmoor had prepared him for bugs.


	3. Chapter 3

"Watson, I fail to see how you find my opinion so astonishing."

"Holmes, forgive me for being a trifle skeptical. After receiving persecution from you about my writing almost daily, I find it hard to believe you would support a book involving talking animals and another world behind a mirror."

Holmes tried to restrain a smirk. "Watson, my only criticism of your writing is that you insist on putting romanticism in a purely scientific narrative. Now, when the author injects science into a fantastical setting, and especially one for the juvenile mind, that is a particularly clever initiative."

"Science? The only science I see is what percentage of opium this fellow takes, or so I've heard."

"_That_," spat Holmes, biting on the clay pipe. "is a gross misunderstanding of the populace. I'll prove it."

He retrieved the offending book from the floor and opened it to his desired page.

"See Watson, this business with the cat is a classic example of non-Euclidian geometry. And here," He rifled a few pages back. "the heroine is multiplying in bases without…"

Watson merely rolled his eyes and shook his head, prematurely stopping the immanent rant. "Goodnight Holmes," he said with a sigh.

"Green is certainly not your color, old chap," Holmes replied cheerfully before carefully restoring to the shelf an old mathematician friend's book.


	4. Chapter 4

Oliver J. Eastman was a counterfeiter, forger, and thief. And he was also getting away. Holmes, Watson, and Lestrade had already run nearly a mile by the time they and the inhumanly fast criminal reached the train station.

"STOP! POLICE!" Bellowed Lestrade for the third time to no avail.

"We've got to stop him before he gets lost in the crowd and can board a train," said Holmes. "Watson, cover the exits, while I cut to the platforms. Lestrade, keep after him.

This was easier said than done as the Inspector soon became painfully winded.

Lestrade desperately clutched at a nearby pillar, gulping for air. Within seconds Eastman was lost amid the teeming crowd.

"God," Lestrade prayed between gasps, ever thankful Mr. Holmes was not around to hear. "If we can just get him. If you could just _help us get him_, I will never miss a day of church again in my life. I swear."

No sooner had he looked up and caught his breath than a commotion burst out not twenty yards from him. An irate cargo man with an upturned cart of luggage was berating the panicked form of Oliver Eastman, conveniently front lit by a shaft of light from an open window.

Ironically, Lestrade swore. The Lord had apparently decided to take him up on his bargain.


	5. Chapter 5

Watson saw Eastman by the upturned cart. There was a train just beginning to belch and steam on the platform where he was standing. Time was running out. Vaulting over a railing and a number of small children, Watson made a run for the criminal.

Lestrade was barking for a regular officer as Holmes tried to maneuver around a crowd of bankers. It was Watson who able to get to Eastman first.

"Eastman, I cannot allow you to board this train."

Watson was thrown off balance as Eastman grabbed him by the lapel and held him over the tracks in front of the smoking train.

"I'll not stand in the dock, sir." Growled Eastman. "I guarantee you that."

Not three seconds later, there was a sliding noise and a thud. Eastman's knees buckled, and he involuntarily yanked Watson forward. Both men were losing ground and teetered precariously toward the tracks.

Watson's breath left him as someone forcefully tackled the both of them. The three men went sprawling on the railroad platform to a chorus of startled cries. Watson's fall was broken by an old leather valise. He looked up to see a young man with light brown eyes and dark brown hair sitting triumphantly on his assailant.

"Excuse me sir," said the boy politely. "Would you mind handing me my bag?"


	6. Chapter 6

Once Eastman was hauled away by a Regular Officer and all had settled, Lestrade, Watson, and Holmes stood around the young hero of the day offering congratulations.

His name was Richard Castleby, and he was preparing to board the train when he saw the commotion. He acted on impulse when Eastman threatened Watson and remained unperturbed by the danger he had faced. His only worry was that he had missed his train for his altruism, but the three older men were more than happy to pay for his next ticket.

"That was an excellent display of courage, young man," said Lestrade. "We need resourceful men like you in the Yard. No doubt Oxford has already snatched you up to be a logician though."

Watson grinned. "Or Her Majesty's Army to be a strategist."

The young man only smiled bashfully at the onslaught of praise.

"You could also do well as a rugby player, my boy. Which do you think would be this in lad's future, Holmes?

"None," Holmes interjected thoughtfully. "Mr Castleby has neither the rigid posture of a soldier, an athlete's well-developed tone, nor does he have the hunched shoulders and pallor of academia. So, Mr. Castleby, do you mind indulging us with your intended profession?"

"I am a missionary, Sir," said the young man, leaving the three men baffled.

* * *

_A/N: Over the past year, I have made a decision to spend one year of my life in the mission field between my undergrad and grad school. The idea of school itself can be insanely self-serving. I wanted to take a year off and serve the Lord wholeheartedly & hopefully better serve Him in my career thereafter. Richard Castleby is one of the creative results of this decision. These three chapters are a commemoration of it, so enjoy. & I'm sure Holmes & Watson maintain correspondence with the lad, so if you wish to borrow him for a bit, let me know. :)_


	7. Chapter 7

Watson looked up from Simpson's best venison and promptly choked.

"Holmes."

"Watson?'

"Do you remember when we had that horrendous stand-in and found out Irene Norton had a younger sister?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Gird your loins. She's here, and she doesn't look happy."

Holmes turned to face an auburn-haired, sharp eyed little Fury in an electric blue dress. Her hand was raised in a preemptive slap, but he courteously took it without skipping a beat. "Miss Rosslyn Adler I presume? A pleasure to finally meet you."

The look of rage was replaced by one of confusion. "You, don't look like…"

"Yes, I believe you've met my former decoy Robert. I agree; he has been devastatingly churlish to you. It is one of the myriad reasons he's been let go. Please accept my deepest apologies."

Miss Adler smiled impishly. "Apology accepted Mr. Holmes. Do excuse my outburst."

"No harm done. I reacted similarly when I heard of his disservice to you. If you wish, we could aid you in locating him so you could, let's say, express your offense in person."

Watson choked on his venison. Again.

"Thank you, but no. I'll be writing my sister to tell her how this ended."

They all bid farewell, but before leaving, Miss Adler looked back, "Mr. Holmes, Irene does send her best."


	8. Chapter 8

Rumor in London was that the Bishop brought his greatest treasure with him on his preaching circuit through the North. Such news was too tempting for infamous thief Louis Winscott. Holmes and Watson had missed Winscott by an hour at the station. Everyone feared the worst as police were gathered and the rabble made their way to the cathedral late that night. Except the Bishop, he stayed quiet.

They found the thief sitting on the church steps, shivering, face in his hands. All the cathedral's treasures remained, and the box holding the prized possession sat opened on the altar. Winscott complied meekly when they took him, mystifying the throng. Except the Bishop.

Holmes strode alone to inspect the box and treasure. Watson saw a visible shiver pass over the detective as he looked inside.

"I heard once," said Lestrade. "When Pompey took Jerusalem, he entered the Holy of Holies as conqueror's right. He found no idol to cast down & claim, but the silence and emptiness of the untamable, unfathomable God. The Romans took no plunder, & he ordered the Temple cleansed."

"I saw carvings on the box. Your treasure wasn't tangible, was it Bishop?" Asked Watson.

"And being found in fashion as a man, He humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even death on a Cross" quothe the Bishop.


End file.
